


A Courier's Road

by scribensdracones



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Different playthroughs, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:41:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24453832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribensdracones/pseuds/scribensdracones
Summary: You have walked the wastelands and you wish they had not changed you.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	A Courier's Road

**Author's Note:**

> After finishing my upteenth playthrough of FNV, I wanted to put the journey of my courier into words, the character progression, and moments that really stuck. Sorry if this has been done a thousand times before, I just, kinda wanted to get this off my chest.

You have wandered the wastelands for years, east to west, west to east, north and south, back north again. You met people you will never forget and hopefully they won’t forget you either. You have seen death and despair, but beauty and kindness, too. When you woke up in that sleepy settlement in the western Mojave, you still wanted to believe in goodness. There are good people who helped you back on your feet. You’re glad you’re alive. All you want is answers.

The wastelands are wide and full of opportunity. One of the mercs you met was just charming and you thought that blue was just cool. You decided to dress like that too. You go South, towards Primm, and then, continue on, and follow the giant statues of the Rangers in the distance, up on the hill.

In the shadow of Nipton, you meet the Legion. You only heard of them before and seeing them with your own eyes has your breath catching in your throat. When the soldiers leave, you try to save those you can. Some walk away, marked and crippled for life. Others die in horrible pain and you wish you just had put them out of their misery quickly. You tell yourself you had to try, at least. Cripple or not, they still had another chance at life. You hope they will use it wisely.

You track the man who killed you. You etch his name into a bullet. _Benny_. Maybe you will never fire it. Maybe there is an explanation for all of it. In the blinding lights of the Strip, you wonder if this could be your life now. You ignore the invitation of this mysterious Mr. House and the robot who has been following you. There is still a score to settle – in the colorful, flashy Tops. You face him. In the blinding lights of the Strip, he slips away and once more, you need to follow him to the lion’s den. What’s the difference between you and the women of the Legion? You cannot look them in the eye when you pass them. You cannot look Caesar in the eye either. The difference between you and the other women is that you have his favour and whatever Caesar gives, Caesar can take.

Even after all this time tracking Benny down, you don’t actually care what happens to him. You give him your stealthboy and let him try his luck. This is so much bigger than just you, and bigger than him, and you leave the fort without caring to recover the chip. Whatever they do with it, you don’t want to have anything to do with it. You jump from job to job. You change fates. You meet people who walk by your side. They trust you and they trust your judgement. But each time you say something, you wonder if you said the right thing. When all is said and done, will they move on and live a good life? You hope so.

You get to know the Mojave. Its people. Its dangers and beauty. Despite what many people say, you believe the NCR is their best bet. You have seen Nipton, you cannot even imagine helping them. You found Benny’s robot and know that you don’t want the Mojave to depend on you. You heard rumours about the ambitions of this Mr. House. But can a single man be a better ruler than an established nation? You decide to help them. Wherever you can, you broker peace. You save anyone you can. You save the president. You are a hero. Wherever you go, people know who you are and they know what you stand for. You are a hero.

Then why is it that you are afraid to face the Legion at the dam? You still don’t really want to be a part of this. You hate the feeling of pulling the trigger. Whatever may happen at the dam… you are just one woman. They will get by without you. You’re tired. Like a coward, you retreat from the dam, leave the NCR hanging, and follow the call of the Sierra Madre. Following the broadcast, you dream of a beautiful villa, you dream of having drinks on a terrace and making new friends. Of course you’re foolish. You should not have gone down into that bunker, but you did, curious as you are.

The wastelands taught you a lot but they hardly prepared you for the Sierra Madre. You were tired of running but instead of a break, all you had was another enemy to fight. Those collars, do they feel like the slave collars worn by legion women? Will it explode to the tune of an old world song? The air makes you suffocate, and everyone you meet thinks you are here because of foolish greed. You want to protest. You are the angel of the wastelands. You are tired and were lured in with false promises. They don’t care. Neither about you, nor your goals. All they care about is the Sierra Madre. This place taught you fear. The ghosts lurking in the dark and the pressure of the collar against your neck.

You abandon your old clothes in favour of the black assassin suit. It feels just right. Something inside you feels dead, you should mourn it in black.

In the hotel, you realize you were born in the wrong age. You made it so far… but here, rummaging through the things of Vera Keyes… you wonder what could have been. You undress and put on this garment. A necklace of pearls around your neck, along with the collar, and in the broken mirror you see enough to know you could have been a starlet too, once. You could have starred in those old movies, a femme fatale with a gun, an all-american sweetheart all boys would pine for. Instead, you were born into this wasteland and being pretty was worthless unless you wanted to be a casino girl. You resent being born into this age. The America of before the war sounded like so much fun. A better world than the one you live in.

You leave the Sierra Madre with more gold than you can carry, you refuse to let go of any of it. You earned it. When you sold the last of it, you realize it’s meaningless. You did not learn the lesson you should have learned. You are rich. You are miserable. The General is still waiting for you. You feel empty and at night, you hear the collar’s beep and the steps of the ghosts. You sign up with a caravan because you don’t know what to do with yourself. You enter Zion with them and find yourself walking alone once more.

If the Sierra Madre taught you despair, fear and anger, Zion taught you hope. The waters are clear, free of radiation. Plants grow and fearsome as the Yao Guai might be, you can handle them. This feels like paradise and you would stay here forever, if only you could. When Joshua Graham and Daniel ask for your help, you feel like they should fight. Why would anyone give up a place like that? But Zion is not a place, but a state of mind. Deep in your heart you know that before all this began, you would have agreed. Even if you have become a bitter killer, you should not force others down this path. Though your heart breaks for the beauty of Zion, you hope that you are doing the right thing. Daniel left his scriptures and you guard them like a treasure. You might not believe in their God but you want to believe in his message. You want to believe in peace again.

Is that why you still cannot bring yourself to finish it? Instead of shaping the destiny of the Mojave, you make a detour to investigate a radio signal and this time, you can hardly believe what even happens. After the horrors of the Sierra Madre and the painful loss of Zion, the Big Empty feels like one big joke. You allow your brain to stay in its tank, but your heart is yours, and you will not part without it.

Maybe you should have taken your brain and left your heart instead. Then you would have been smart enough to not run into one challenge after another. Why did you enter the divide? You could have turned your back on it forever, but you could not. That’s where you hear _him_ for the first time. His voice speaks to the most basic parts of you, and though you know he is danger, you still want to know more. By the time this is over… you will wish you did not come here. Will you ever sleep soundly again? You will always dream of the flayed men and the tunnelers below the ground. You wonder if they will truly invade the Mojave one day or whether this bleak vision of doom is merely the ravings of a madman.

When you face him, you are tired and you are guilty. You made the Divide. Even if you insist it’s not your fault, you know that this blood is on your hands. The Angel of the Wastelands is an Angel of Death too. Still, he hears your voice and he believes you. He stands by your side when the marked men flood the bunker. You cannot leave, though. Not with the rocket set to destroy everything in the west.

You’re a good person and you want to save everyone. You want to cancel the launch and you feel small and helpless when you realize the cost. For a moment, your hand hovers over the control panel. You could destroy the legion’s territories and you remember: even they have innocent people. You will burn their lands centuries to come to save one small robot. If you still had tears left to cry, you would weep for Ed-E, the heroic little robot that would never make it to Navarro.

You return to the Canyon to find Ulysses. You want to know more, now that the storm has settled. He lost his attractive charms and you don’t know if killing him might not have been the greater mercy for this empty husk of a man. You let him keep his vigil and bid goodbye.

The wastelands are wide and there is nothing left to do. You become the hero of the dam by the side of all the friends you made. They all came and answered your call. When you face the Legate, you want to show mercy. You want to send him back home to Caesar, a man with broken pride and full of shame. You don’t. Maybe you are showing mercy. Maybe you are being thorough. One way or another, he is just another dead man in the Mojave dust.

When they decorate you with honours, you feel empty. Gone is the young woman who wandered the wastes in the torn stockings and blue blazer. She traded her silenced little pistol for a sniper rifle. You don’t know where to go. You might have changed the wastelands, but they have changed you too, and you wish they had not.

Maybe, one day, your soul will find a home.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this... Would you be interested in more of this type, for my other couriers? I have an array of different personalities and stories, though this one is my main. I'd be happy to tell the stories of the others in the same manner!


End file.
